


Triplecross

by SpellCleaver



Series: Xtober 2020 [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ball, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prince Luke Skywalker, Treason, Whump, all the fun stuff!, backstabbing, poisonous, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver
Summary: Luke attends an Imperial ball with his father and things go downhill from there.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine & Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine & Luke Skywalker
Series: Xtober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112750
Comments: 9
Kudos: 96
Collections: Angstober 2020





	Triplecross

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted here.](https://spell-cleaver.tumblr.com/post/632813187297886208/day-22-whumptober-do-these-tacos-taste-funny-to)

“You,” his partner told him, “are an excellent dancer.”

Luke smiled at her. “You’re not too bad yourself,” he told her, spinning her around again—and it was true. Leia had the poise to her that he would never been able to achieve, twenty years raised as his father’s heir or not, and she always made him look better when they danced together.

Which was just another reason to dance with her, as if the opportunity for clandestine discussion it offered wasn’t good enough.

The song ended and they bowed to each other, Luke smiling at her and about to ask for another one when he caught a glimpse of something over her shoulder—his father, watching him. He inclined his helmet ever so slightly and Luke took his leave of Leia to move towards him, gracefully turning down another courtier who tried to talk to him, picking up the drink he’d put aside for the dancing and taking another sip from it.

“How badly are you suffering, Father?” he asked, stifling a yawn now that he was away from the public eye. It was past midnight, he’d been here since sundown, and he was _tired_.

“Terribly,” came the response. “Every new moment in this ballroom is an agony.”

Luke laughed to himself, though his heart twinged at the fact he knew it was true, in a much more literal sense.

But that wasn’t exactly something he could help.

Vader eyed the glass in Luke’s hand judgementally and Luke took another sip, almost defensively. “Did you call me over here as a favour because you could tell how exhausted I was? Or was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Vader folded his arms behind his back and started walking—slowly, so Luke could keep up with his massive strides—towards and through the side corridor that led off from the ballroom. Luke hurried after him, frowning, very aware that Leia’s gaze was burning into his back.

“Father?” he called after him, then repeated when he’d caught up and was walking by his side. “Where are we going?”

“The Emperor has requested your presence,” Vader said. “Something about your composure at this ball.”

Luke frowned. “I was under the impression I was doing well—that was why he left me to my own devices.” Palpatine had sat and watched over the room for much of the night, at first, before he’d retired, claiming that it was time for the youths to have their fun. Luke had no idea what he’d meant by that, but he hadn’t partaken in anything near as _fun_ as His Majesty seemed to have been expecting.

“And you were,” Vader said. “Perhaps that is what he wishes to speak to you about.”

Luke nodded. He was already tired—trying to untangle Palpatine’s machinations _now_ was making him feel dizzy. He had a headache.

“That’s plausible, I suppose— Oh.” He blinked, and suddenly he was on the floor, staring. The glass that had been in his hand was in pieces, his drink seeped across and between the flagstones, mingling with something red. He glanced at his hand and winced. Blood and shards, embedded in his palm.

He glanced at his other arm and found that had not been spared either—minor cuts grazed it all the way down.

“Oh,” he said, blinking slowly. “That…”

His father was watching him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… It was just an accident.” Luke blinked again, then gingerly pushed himself to his feet, wincing. The poor servants would have to see that and clean it up; he should probably go to the medbay to get the glass in his hands taken out, get some bandages…

But no excuse would satisfy his father’s master. Not if he was late. So when his father started walking again, he kept pace, and when they reached the grand double doors of the throne room he strode in without hesitation, hands still seeping blood.

Even when he noticed that no royal guards were in attendance.

He strode right in.

Palpatine was on his throne, though the shadows seemed darker and longer today than they usually did—Luke didn’t take a moment to dwell on why. Nor did he want to think about why he was suddenly so… weak, bowing and kneeling before his Emperor, his legs trembling, feeling like he was about to throw up.

He had nothing to fear.

He had nothing to fear, did he?

“Luke,” Palpatine said warmly, “how are you finding the celebrations?”

Luke kept his head bowed and respectful, knee still to the floor. “As spectacular as ever, Your Majesty. Though I grow more and more tired as the evening drags on.”

“Ah, yes,” Palpatine said, rising from his throne. “I imagine you had a busy day, committing treason.”

For a moment those words didn’t compute—then Luke jerked his head up in shock, mouth agape as he stared. “What? Your Majesty, I— _ah!_ ”

There were tight hands—solid, durasteel hands—around his wrists, constricting, digging the glass further in. He cried out.

His father did not release his grip.

“Do you deny it?” Palpatine continued, coming down the steps with a _thud, thud, thud_ of his cape. “I am aware that the moment I left the ballroom, you were passing intelligence to the Princess Leia. Did you think you could get it past me?”

Luke coughed, head _spinning_ now, pain clouding everything crimson. “Master— _Father—_ ”

“Do you deny it?” Vader rumbled, right in his ear. He sounded _angry_.

_No, Father, no, I never meant to betray you, it wasn’t you I turned my back on, no—_

He opened his mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—

“I have the princess in custody as well. Whatever you say, she will be searched—and if you are found to be lying, in whatever you say, she will be killed. I am certain that she _is_ carrying smuggled information on her person, but if I am found to be mistaken, then the both of you will live. If you tell the truth, and you were both Rebels… I can promise _her_ amnesty. Only if you cooperate.”

Luke swallowed.

There wasn’t any choice to make there.

“Yes,” he confessed. “I passed information to her.”

Vader constricted his grip and Luke cried out, blood running in rivulets down his wrists.

Palpatine raised an eyebrow at it as it dripped onto his polished floor. “Had a little accident, did we? My my, you don’t appear to be in your right mind—perhaps that is as good an explanation for treason against the men who gave you _everything_ as any.”

Luke _wasn’t_ in his right mind—he could see that now; or rather, he _couldn’t_ see. Everything blurred in a cackling of colours and no matter how much he blinked, it would not clear.

But still, the realisation filtered through the haze.

“Poison,” he choked out.

“Yes. I never expected Lord Vader to be so talented at _subtlety_ , but here we are.” Palpatine stepped ever closer, until his robes brushed Luke’s knees, towering over him. “We agreed that if I was wrong, we would give you the antidote. But if I was _correct_ …”

His foot lashed out, then, and pain exploded in Luke side; he was shoved hard onto the floor, head hitting and ringing. He spat blood.

“Well, it would be wrong to give an antidote to a traitor. So enjoy your last few moments of life, dear Luke—I know you have been the Fulcrum agent in our midst for years. I know you have actively worked against us. I am sure your death with be painful enough to make up for all of that.”

Palpatine bent down to stare him in the eye, those sickly irises like searchlights.

Then there was a flash of red.

Luke shouted, yanking back as heat burned against his face, and— and—

Palpatine fell back with a wheeze.

There was something cold at Luke’s lips—he spat and choked and struggled, but then something cold was in his mouth and down his throat and in his head.

“What!?” He coughed, sitting up—when had Vader released him—and _glaring_. Everything still spun, but he was fairly sure that black blob was his father. “What— what are you— you _poisoned me_ —”

“And you betrayed me,” Vader snapped, and Luke flinched. There was an entire maelstrom of fury there, just under the surface, and he couldn’t… “But you are alive. You had the antidote. The Emperor is dead.”

Luke, with his slowly clearing vision, glanced at Palpatine—and flinched at the body he saw there. “You…”

“Stabbed him. Yes.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“He was going to kill you. You’re a _traitor_.”

“ _What?_ I don’t understand—”

“I poisoned you,” his father declared, and his words were a thunderclap, “to _save your life_.”


End file.
